Trick Stair II: Advanced Studies
by Lyra Silvertongue2
Summary: Three hours was an awfully long time to spend in a trick stair. But now that they're out of the stair, Hermione and Draco don't feel like it was that long, and the world outside seems a great deal more real. And what's this new PostNEWTs business?
1. Prologue

"Ooh, look at Granger!" giggled Draco Malfoy, who was perched on the stairs, looking smug. "You'd think she'd be running _towards_ class, not away from it."

As Crabbe and Goyle chuckled, Hermione Granger, who had paused when Malfoy spoke, continued her charge up the stairs. When she was halfway up the flight, Crabbe–or possibly Goyle, as no Gryffindor had ever bothered to figure out which was which–moved his massive bulk directly into her path. Hermione stopped, irritated.

"I don't want to be late, Malfoy," she said almost calmly. "May I go by?"

"No," he answered quickly, grinning. "Know what's under this staircase, Granger?"

"I don't care," she said through gritted teeth. "Look, I just need to get my book, and get to class. Can we _possibly_ do this during free time?"

"Do what?" said Malfoy, quite pleased with himself. "I don't know what your problem is, Granger. All I'm doing is standing on the stairs. I'm not _bothering _anybody."

"You're bothering _me!_"

"Well," he laughed. "I'm not bothering anybody of _consequence._"

It was difficult, but somehow Hermione managed to prevent herself strangling him. "Right," she said carefully. "I'll go to class without my book."

"Without any books, it looks like," drawled Malfoy. Hermione had left her book bag outside the classroom, to help her run faster. "Goyle?"

Oh, that was Goyle. The enormous boy moved forward, and before Hermione could so much as reach for her wand, he'd seized her awkwardly around the arms, pinning them down. Struggling against Goyle, Hermione gasped, "What are you _doing?_ Get _off!_"

"Ahem," said Malfoy. "I asked you before, Granger: do you know what's under these stairs?"

"I don't care!" said Hermione angrily, struggling to reach her wand. "Let me go, you stupid – you stupid _boys!_"

"You don't know. Well, you'll have to let us know what you find out." Malfoy gestured at Goyle with his head.

Goyle shuffled up the stairs, apparently having no trouble lifting Hermione, who continued in her attempts to free herself. Crabbe and Malfoy turned as Goyle passed them, watching. Malfoy put one of his feet up on the stair in front of him.

"Bon voyage, Granger!" said Malfoy, to the raucous laughter of Crabbe and Goyle. Goyle released his hold on Hermione, and for a split-second she was free.

The staircase decided this was a good time to move. It lurched to the right, and Hermione watched in horror as Malfoy slipped, losing his balance, tipping backward onto the stair on which his foot had been balanced. Malfoy grabbed the closest thing to him: Hermione's robes. Wheeling around, Hermione let out a brief shriek, trying to break free of Malfoy's grip, but he held fast. Hermione felt herself losing her balance, and shrieked again, falling backwards on top of Malfoy –

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle paused mid-guffaw, and simply stared.

"Did the stairs eat them?" said Goyle, after a minute.

"...No..." Crabbe replied, slowly.

"Well, what...?"

"Let's...let's go to class," said Crabbe, the smarter of the two.

"Right," Goyle said, who always felt better when someone told him what to do.

Shouldering Draco's bookbag, Crabbe led the way back down the stairs, to the Potions classroom.

"Hey, Goyle?"

"Yeh?"

"Why's Draco have a book called _Potions Ingredients of the Western World?_"

"Dunno."

"Oh. Okay."

* * *

Warning: If you have not read the story for which this is the sequel, turn back! You will soon be very confused. _Trick Stair,_ the original story, is located under my penname here on Thanks! 


	2. Chapter 1: Aftermath

All down the row of cauldrons in the Potions classroom, corks bobbed like buoys in the dark blue liquid of the unclogging potions. Whispered chatter filled the classroom as to how to make the potions look more like something with which to unclog a drain, and less like miniature oceans. Professor Snape had announced, almost delightedly, at the beginning of the class that anyone who had done the reading should know how to dissolve the cork in their potion, and thus, he wasn't going to tell them.

Seamus Finnigan was complaining to his partner, over their cork (which had once been used to stopper a small vial of pickled chicken feet) that, "We could just go buy a bottle of clog remover and have done with it." Harry Potter and Ron Weasley (whose cork might have come from the top of a bottle of sherry from a Professor's private stores) were alternating turns holding the cork under the potion with a wooden spoon. Across the classroom, Theodore Nott was consulting with his book and pouring in different potions ingredients over his cork (which once held back the rare insect known as the Inflat's Beetle of Many Colors. This beetle was only one color, purple, but when devoured could turn the devouree any number of colors and incidentally kill him).

The dungeon door began to creak open, and all heads immediately turned to the welcome distraction. A head appeared in the gap between door and wall. "Professor Snape," piped the head. "Professor McGonagall wishes to speak to you."

Snape snarled audibly. The first-year behind the door flinched. "Professor McGonagall is aware that I'm teaching a class?"

"She said it's very important, sir, and that you could floo her from your office, sir," answered the boy, in a voice that said, 'Please don't eat my liver.'

Professor Snape addressed the class sourly. "You will continue your assignment. And I expect all corks to be dissolved or dissolving by the time I return. I'd find it quite a shame to have to fail all of you, and prevent you from sitting your Potions NEWT." Somehow, the class doubted that he would find this a shame at all.

With a swirl of his robes, Snape stalked out of the room, grumbling under his breath about overexcitable Gryffindors. The first-year let out a little startled squeak as he went by, and both disappeared when the dungeon door swung shut.

"Psst. Harry." Neville would only ever be so brave in Potions class when Professor Snape was out of the room.

"What, Neville?" Both Ron and Harry turned in their seats to face him.

"Um," said Neville. "Where's Hermione?"

"Dunno," shrugged Ron, and went back to drowning his and Harry's cork.

"I think she said something about going back for a book," said Harry, not very concerned. "She'll probably be back soon, Neville."

"I'm doomed," Neville lamented, then went back to staring morosely at his cork, which covered almost all the liquid in the cauldron, and had once covered a three-gallon jar that held lemon drops.

* * *

Potions passed by slowly, but luckily, with as few explosions as possible. Lavender Brown had solved the cork problem just after Snape had left the room, and had kindly shared the solution with everyone: spit in the potion. Snape hadn't even yelled at him that much today, reflected Neville, trying to keep a good grip on his books as he walked back to the Gryffindor dormitory. Probably because Hermione wasn't around to help him. Maybe Snape felt _bad_ for him–nah. Not possible. Snape was probably just distracted 'cause Malfoy was missing. 

Neville could hear Ron and Harry talking behind him. One of his Potions books started to slip–"Oh no, you don't," said Neville under his breath, catching the book _just_ before it clattered onto the stairs below–and then pitched forward and dropped the books everywhere anyway, since, once _again,_ he'd fallen into that damned trick stair.

Neville sighed a long-suffering sigh. "Help!" he called over his shoulder, knowing one of his housemates ought to be kind enough to assist him.

Just then, something..._grabbed_ him...under the stair. _That_ had never happened before.

"AHHHH!" screamed Neville. "Something's got me! HELP! SOMETHING'S GOT ME AND IT'S GOING TO EAT MY TOES!" He started kicking frantically under the stair, trying to dislodge whatever had him.

"What're you on about, Neville?" chuckled Ron. He and Harry both stuck their hands in Neville's armpits, preparing to haul him out of the stair. "One...two..._three!_"

"Cor, Neville, what've you been eating?" gasped Harry, when they found Neville to be a great deal heavier than expected.

"Something's got me!" babbled Neville. "My toes–I'm too young to lose my toes!"

"We'll have to magic him out," said Harry. "You any good at levitation?"

"Not something this big," said Ron. "Shut up for a bit, Neville, we're trying to think!"

"M'toes..." whimpered Neville, a bit more quietly, still thrashing about. "...what if it's poisonous?...what if it's...?"

"What if we tried it together?" asked Harry, hands on his hips.

"Let's get someone else, to be safe. Oi! Dean!"

Dean Thomas paused at the top of the stairs, turning to look at them. "Yeah?"

"Help us levitate Neville out?"

"Right, okay," said Dean, trotting back down the stairs.

It _was_ poisonous, whatever it was, this weird, remarkably strong thing under the stair. Neville _knew_ it was poisonous. He could feel the poison coursing through his veins already. He could feel the sting on his probably-long-gone left toes...waitasecond...Neville was wearing shoes...

"On three! One, two–_three!_"

"Wingardium leviosa!" cried three voices in unison, with perfect swishes and flicks of the wands.

Hermione's boot scraped the stair on the way out.

"Wot the–!" cried Dean, tearing his wand away from the levitation spell. Ron and Harry, also shocked, grabbed their wands with both hands to brace against the sudden load of weight. Hermione, realizing where she was, let go of Neville's leg, though Malfoy still clung tightly to her waist. The three being levitated landed with a series of thumps a little way up the stairwell from Dean, Ron, and Harry.

"You're not poisonous," a flustered Neville pointed out, where he was lying on the stairs. Hermione and Malfoy did not hear him, as they were too busy scrambling to their feet, and then, embarrassed, away from each other. Ron, Harry, and Dean didn't hear either, as they were too busy staring in horror.

"Wh–what is this!" Ron raged, when he'd recovered his wits. "Some kind of–of _tryst?_"

"Hermione, what...?" started Harry, feeling betrayed.

"Buh..." said Dean, pointing.

"It's not a _tryst_, Ron," said Hermione in a calming tone, straightening her clothes. "It was an _accident._"

"_What_ was an accident!" cried Ron. Then suspiciously, "Are you pregnant?"

Draco made a noise of disgust. Hermione scowled at him, and he shrugged. "What? They're your friends. You deal with them."

"Oh, that's just fine, Draco," said Hermione, annoyed.

"Hermione..." said Neville, grasping at her robes from the floor. "Thank you for not being poisonous."

"I'm sure there's a perfectly rational explanation for all of this," Harry said, trying to calm Ron down.

"_Thank_ you, Harry," said Hermione. "I'm glad someone's thinking straight. It's all just been a big–"

"Malfoy!" interjected Ron, who was not about to be calmed down. "Explain yourself! What've you done to Hermione?"

Draco drew himself up angrily. "Noth–"

"None of your business, Ron!" yelled Hermione, who suddenly was very deeply incensed. How dare they. _How dare they._ "None of your business," she repeated, more softly. _What do you care?_ There was a pause. "I've had enough of this," she said, suddenly, in a tear-laden voice. With a swish of bushy hair, Hermione dashed up the stairs, clutching at her face, and disappeared around a bend in the hallway.

Draco noticed that no one asked after her well-being. Then he noticed that he'd noticed that no one asked after her well-being, and was shocked.

"Malfoy," started Harry, immediately suspicious now that Hermione was gone, "if you've done _anything_ to her–"

"That's disgusting, Potter," sneered Draco, "who would want to do anything with _her?_" Draco was following his typical pattern of behavior: when in doubt, be a pompous ass.

"You take that back!" shouted Ron, barreling up the stairs towards Draco.

"I–" Draco never finished, since Ron's fist was hitting his nose, and then the back of his head was hitting the stairs.

_WHOOMP!_

_It doesn't hurt. Ha! In your face, Weasley!_ thought Draco, then moved and understood pain for the first time in his life. "Oooo—arrrrgh–"

"Let's go, Ron. He's not worth our time."

"Yeah."

"C'mon, Neville," said Harry, helping the boy up as they went by. "Coming, Dean?"

"What the hell just happened?" asked Dean, following them. The four Gryffindors thudded up the stairs and away.

After a few seconds, Draco managed to get himself woozily to his feet, pointed himself at the hospital wing, and stumbled down the stairs, clutching the back of his head.

The bell rang for lunch.


	3. Chapter 2: PostNEWTs and Decisions

Author's Note: This chapter fought me tooth and claw, because of the damned damned exposition. However! Now we are done with most of that, so next chapter will be more interesting. And hopefully posted sooner than this was. Enjoy!

* * *

Hermione arrived outside Professor McGonagall's door breathless and clutching a note, a sheaf of parchment, and several bent quills. She'd forgotten the ink in her haste.

"Miss Granger," greeted Professor McGonagall, upon opening the door. "Come in, please, I have some very good news for you."

"Is it true, Professor?" Hermione babbled excitedly, depositing her loose supplies on the desk with a clatter. She sat down in the chair McGonagall indicated. "Thank you. Is it true, they're finally instituting Young Researchers!"

"I could not be more pleased–that is why I sent the notes out as soon as I'd heard," confessed the teacher with a smile, resuming her seat at the desk. "You're tardy, though, Miss Granger–is there a reason?" McGonagall could make a person feel like a small insect, when she peered through her spectacles like that.

Because it was a Professor, and her favorite one at that, Hermione felt no desire to withhold the truth. "I fell into a trick stair, Professor."

"A trick stair."

"The one between the second and third floor, yes," clarified Hermione, wilting a little under McGonagall's relentless stare. "I'm planning on writing a full apology to Professor Snape for missing his class."

McGonagall's eyebrow raised. "Missing his class? I wouldn't expect it would take a talented student, such as yourself, longer than a few moments to free yourself from a trick stair, Miss Granger."

A little defensively, Hermione said, "Well, there was a silencing spell, Professor." The other eyebrow joined the first. "Oh, I fell all the way in, Professor. And my wand vanished."

"Oh, dear. We'll have to issue a warning about this stair." McGonagall opened a desk drawer, pulling out an official-looking parchment. "You say you just fell in?"

"Not...exactly," said Hermione, blushing. Maybe not such a good idea to tell the teacher she was _pushed._ "I don't think anyone else is really in danger of being trapped."

Blinking, McGonagall said, "Very well," and returned the parchment to its place in the drawer. "Because you are a prefect, I'll defer to your judgement."

"I could put up a sign..." Hermione offered doubtfully.

"I doubt it would do much good. No, let us move onto more pleasant topics." Hermione grinned. "The school board has, at length, given its approval for the Young Researchers' program that you signed up for in your first year. I'm afraid due to your tardiness you've missed our primary meeting, but I'll review with you what I told the other students.

"Thank you, Professor!" said Hermione, accepting the thick pamphlet McGonagall handed across the desk. It read _Post-NEWTs Preparations Course_ in official letters on the front. Flipping through the leaflet, Hermione said, "Have they changed the name?"

"Yes, that was one of the many conditions that came with the approval," said McGonagall, with a slightly sour look. "Another is that we hire a special tutor to handle your assignments. Luckily," added McGonagall, at Hermione's look of panic, "I already have a suitable candidate in mind, and the Headmaster has agreed to hire him." She paused. "By the way, have you seen Mr. Malfoy today?" Hermione stopped looking through the leaflet. "I'd rather not have to repeat this a third time."

"I have, er–I saw him about a half-an-hour ago, that is, Professor." And then she'd gone running back to her room, without another thought about him. Oh, no! She'd claimed to be his friend, and then first chance she'd left him to the wolves.

Never mind that she was thinking of Harry and Ron as the wolves.

No, she'd told him they were friends, then had run back to her room and cried. Though she hadn't cried for long, of course, she never did, waste of time, really, and then McGonagall's note had arrived, and everything else had slipped clear out of her mind... "I don't know where he is, now, though," she finished, slowly.

McGonagall sighed. "I'm sure he'll turn up soon, though why he didn't receive my summons in class I'm sure I don't want to know." What? Oh. Yes, don't ask, don't tell. "Here is the list of people enrolled in Young Resear–excuse me, Post-NEWTs Preparations."

Dragging her thoughts back to the business at hand, Hermione studied the list intently, committing it to memory. A number of Ravenclaws, that was no surprise, including Padma Patil, Parvati's sister. Almost every Slytherin sixth-year, no big shocker there. One or two Hufflepuff sixth-years...Dean Thomas? Unexpected. "These people are all in my year," Hermione observed, looking up.

"Yes, I've always considered sixth year a dead year, academically. Just finished with OWLs, not yet studying intensely for the NEWTs. It's really the perfect opportunity to fit in a little extra studying," said McGonagall, appearing pleased as punch about the whole situation. She cleared her throat. "The program will work as follows: you will meet weekly with your Post-NEWTs tutor to discuss your assignments. Your assignments will be a series of long-term projects, which you will design through discussions with your tutor. The goal will be to challenge yourself, and to broaden your understanding of magic by combining disciplines, such as creating a _potion_ that requires a _charm,_ both of which require _arithmancy_ to truly comprehend your work. The goal for the year is to design your own piece of magic." Hermione gasped. This really _was_ advanced.

"That, of course, will be your _final_ project. Unfortunately, the school board," McGonagall growled, "prevented us from initiating the program at the beginning of this year. Rather than waiting for next year, however, I chose to start an abbreviated version of the program this year."

"This is _wonderful!_" exclaimed Hermione, before she could stop herself. She had been listening with growing excitement, her whole body humming with eagerness to start studying _right now._

"You haven't heard the best part," said McGonagall with a secret smile. "You're to be allowed _private research trips._" Hermione's eyes widened with delight. "With proper permission forms signed, of course," the Professor said, folding her hands on the desk. "There is one more condition the school board is enforcing: that you have a partner for the year. There are–safety concerns, when experimenting with new magic." Reaching across the desk, McGonagall retrieved the list of students, adjusting her glasses to study it. "Now, everyone who was on time has already been partnered for the year, but I can possibly consult with a pair about switching partners–"

"Why?" said Hermione. "I mean, who's left?"

"I told you, Miss Granger, I have been unable to reach Mr. Malfoy this morning."

"Oh, I'll partner him," blurted Hermione, so overcome with excitement about the course she was ready to pop. "It's no trouble."

"Really." McGonagall's eyebrow shot up again. "I was under the impression that the two of your had a rivalry? As I understand, it is a glorious tradition upheld between Gryffindor and Slytherin house."

Maybe if she partnered him, he'd forgive her for ditching him, thought Hermione, and said, "No, it's fine, Professor. I'll partner Mal–Draco."

With raised eyebrows, McGonagall set her quill scratching across the parchment, and sealed Hermione's fate.

* * *

With a sore nose, and ears steaming with pepperup potion that Pomfrey had forced him to drink, Draco plodded back to his dormitory. The blank stone wall slid open when he muttered the password, "Exsanguination," revealing the Slytherin dormitory beyond. A few people called out greetings, but he waved at them dismissively, rubbing at his temple with his other hand.

As he descended the pristine dungeon stairs to his dorm, he heard laughter that could only belong to two people of his acquaintance, and unfortunately, he shared a room with them.

Draco did not acknowledge Crabbe and Goyle, who were hunched over a book, as he headed directly for his bed, thumping down onto it, pulling up his feet, and drawing the thick, green bedcurtains behind him.

Crabbe and Goyle's voices drifted through the curtains.

"Wormwood. What is that?" chuckled Goyle.

"Worl, stands to reason. It's a worm."

"Made of wood," Goyle laughed.

"No! No," came Crabbe's voice, conspiratorially. "It _has_ wood."

Draco could almost hear the bewildered blinking. "What would a worm do with wood?"

"No," said Crabbe, even more quietly. "It has..._morning_ wood."

A pause.

Riotous laughter.

Groaning under his breath, Draco pulled his wand from his pocket and muttered a silencing charm at his curtains. Then he pointed his wand towards the ceiling, and with a muttered word sent a small, glowing orb up to float above his bed, casting an eerie light. Hauling himself up, Draco turned to engage in his favorite passtime: hexing spiders as they crawled up his wall. You needed patience to play this game, since the Slytherin dungeons, despite being, well, dungeons, were actually kept very clean by the Hogwarts house-elves. This meant that when a spider finally went by, Draco had to make his curses count, by making them extremely imaginative and painful to the spiders.

All right, so it was cruel. But it helped him think. And, dammit, he desperately needed a good think right about now.

Right then, thought Draco, seizing a pillow and settling it behind him, so he had a good view of the wall. Right.

Oh, my.

_What_ had he just _done?_ Never mind that he'd been punched by a Weasley and not fought back, never mind that he'd skipped Potions class _again_ despite Snape warning him this week about his grade! He'd–oh, Merlin–he'd _befriended_–

What would his father think?

Oh, bugger what his father would think. He was sixteen, _practically_ an adult, and anyway, that wasn't what was important.

_What _is_ important then?_ he asked himself snidely, as a small spider began crawling from his headboard to the ceiling.

_Okay. Consider the impact of all this, _thought Draco, lifting his wand and aiming it at the spider. _The real impact._ _If I'm, say, seen with Her–Granger, maybe in Hogsmeade, or–or just studying together, right, or talking. Who would notice?_

_Slytherins._ Draco sighted along his wand at the body of the spider. _They probably wouldn't mind so much, except that they'd probably think less of me. Which could hurt my standing in the house. _

_People at school. Not many, though, probably, because it's only sixth year. I am a prefect, though..._

_Teachers would probably eat it up like candy._ Draco started pondering a suitable spell to cast at the spider.

_Why am I seriously considering this?_

This made Draco stop his preparations to hex the spider, and look down at the bedspread in mystification. For a moment he reviewed the three hours he'd spent in the dark, inside of a staircase, and realized that–though he didn't think he'd ever say this aloud–it had been three of the...

Maybe not the _best,_ but certainly _most memorable_, erm, _entertaining_ hours of his life.

Right. Not the best, or anything. Herm–_Granger_ was just very entertaining, that's all.

Fun to tease.

Right.

"Spider!" said Draco aloud, pointing his wand at the wall again. It took him several seconds to find it. Let's see...something to switch its eyes with its legs? No, no...Maybe something to slow it down, then he could cast more than one...no...

"_Rosvelutinus!_" A brief flash of white light, and in place of a small, brown spider, there was a slightly larger puff of bubble-gum pink fur climbing up the wall. With little, puffy pink legs.

Pink and fluffy...Draco sighed. He really _was_ out of it today.

It was all Hermione's fault, anyhow.

Now, where had he been? Making the teachers go warm and gooey over inter-house unity? Anything the teachers approved of, he could probably talk his father around to it. It was all a matter of saying the right thing.

There! Another spider, a big old black one this time, hanging from a thread from the ceiling.

What had he just decided?

Raising his wand to the spider, Draco grinned and said the incantation for a hex.

"–ACO! DRACO! DRACO!" screamed Crabbe, not two feet away, having swept aside Draco's silenced curtains.

"ARGH!" screamed Draco, bolting upright. His shot went wide and hit Goyle, who was right behind Crabbe. Goyle promptly sprouted large donkey ears. "WHAT!" Crabbe looked at him, then looked at Goyle, who looked upwards at his ears. Clearing his throat, Draco said, more calmly, "I mean, yes?"

"Erm," said Crabbe. "Note for you." He shoved a bulky hand in front of Draco's nose.

Taking the note, Draco quickly unfolded it and skimmed its contents. "Oh, bugger," he said.

"What?" said Crabbe.

"Why didn't you give me this earlier?"

"You didn't answer when I called."

"So he called louder," added Goyle. Cautiously, he reached up to feel at his ears.

With an exasperated sigh, Draco made to climb off his bed. Crabbe remained standing there, holding the curtains. "_Move,_" said Draco impatiently.

"Urg," said Crabbe, bumping into Goyle. The two of them fell sprawling on the floor, and Goyle dropped a book.

"What's that?" said Draco, out of sheer morbid curiosity.

Goyle smiled proudly. "_Potions Ingredients of the Western World."_

"We were _reading _it," Crabbe informed Draco.

"Oh. Thanks," said Draco, scooping up the book. Crabbe's and Goyle's faces dropped in sudden disappointment.

"Awww..."

"'Bye!" called Draco on his way out, already taking off at a jog for Professor McGonagall's office.

"Um," said Goyle after a moment. He turned to Crabbe, and pointed at his donkey ears. Crabbe finally noticed, and burst out laughing. Goyle couldn't get him to stop, especially when he tried to end the spell, mispronounced the incantation, and wound up with purple donkey ears.


	4. Chapter 3: Dithering

Ron turned on the Gryffindor Common Room couch to watch Hermione fly by, clutching some parchment and quills, in a blur of bushy hair out the portrait hole. Turning back into his seat, he said, "Where d'you think she was headed?"

Harry shrugged impatiently. "Dunno, Ron." He and Dean went back to recounting to Seamus and Lavender his tale of what had happened earlier on the staircase.

Leaning back in his seat, Ron watched Harry gesture wildly. Worry creased Ron's brow. It wasn't like Harry to ignore Hermione like this. Of course, nothing Harry had done in the past few months had been like Harry, really. Ron let his thoughts drift back over the events of the semester as Harry imitated Neville thrashing about while stuck in the trick stair. Fortunately, Neville had retreated to the greenhouse to calm down, so he didn't get to see the unflattering impersonation.

Forcing his eyes to focus on what was in front of him, Ron watched Dean and Harry demonstrate the swish-and-flick motion they'd used to levitate Neville and his two hangers-on out of the stair.

_Hermione taught me how to do that,_ thought Ron, sinking once again into his troubling thoughts. He'd ached to chase after her when she'd gone running up the stairs. She had seemed so upset, and Ron hated to see her so upset. It was almost lucky for him, then, that he hadn't seen much of her this term. That was Harry's fault, really. Lately Harry had been telling Ron he didn't want to include Hermione in much.

"So Hermione ran away up the stairs," said Harry, dismissive in tone, before continuing with his story.

Hermione hadn't had to do much running away from them, mused Ron unhappily. They'd been running away from her. Earlier in the year, when he and Harry had snuck out of the school upon receiving a You-Know-Who-related tip, Harry hadn't even mentioned taking Hermione along. When Ron had brought her up in the conversation, Harry had dismissed his query, and they'd left without speaking to her.

_'She wouldn't be interested anyway,'_ Harry had said. _'She's only interested in school.'_ Ron had doubted that sincerely, but at that point he'd learned better than to say anything against Harry. After all, what choice did he have? If Ron started questioning Harry, Ron might be dropped just like Hermione. He couldn't afford to lose Harry's trust, as Hermione obviously had.

"And then Ron _decked_ him across the face! It was brilliant," Harry said enthusiastically. Ron looked up at the sound of his name, and pasted on a smile. The oddest thing about Harry lately was that it seemed he'd begun to really enjoy the popularity his fame had brought him.

Ah, well, thought Ron, attempting to look on the bright side. At least he'd finally punched that git Malfoy. "Brilliant," he agreed with Harry.

* * *

Upon exiting McGonagall's office, Draco knew exactly where to go to find Hermione: the library. Clutching _Potions Ingredients of the Western World_ to him, with the pamphlet on the Post-NEWTs Preparation Course sandwiched between the book and his chest, Draco headed determinedly through the hallways of his school. His mind cast about for something to say to her once he arrived, but all too soon he stood in front of the library doors, his mind a blank. 

Focusing on the window in the door, he stared at his reflection, searching for imperfections. Contrary to his normal perception, Draco indeed found something amiss: his hair. Hadn't she said something about how she disliked its plastered look?

Who was he kidding? He remembered every word she'd said to him while inside the stair, and she'd said the way he kept his hair was _unnatural._ Of course, that had been before they'd agreed to be friends. Oh, _argh,_ they'd agreed to be friends, and now that Draco peered _through_ the library door's window, he spotted her sitting at one of the library's tables, bent over a book. Before he could blink, she glanced up toward the doors and spotted him looking at her, the pale sunlight from the library windows falling across her face. Draco caught his breath, and stepped away from the door, missing her smile upon seeing him, and her disappointed look as he disappeared.

Once he was out of sight, Draco made a split-second decision and spoke a _finite incantatem_ with his wand pointed at his hair. At once, he felt his thin locks fall loosely against his cheeks. Tucking one side, then the other, behind his ears, his breathing quick and nervous, Draco braced himself and stepped into the library.

Hermione, who had been watching the door, instantly motioned him to sit with her. Draco crossed the room quickly, trying to keep his steps quiet, and sat down in the seat next to her. For a few seconds they stared at each other, Draco nervously fiddling with his pamphlet, Hermione pulling her quill through her fingers, incidentally covering her fingers with ink. Draco began to regret sitting next to her. Finally, he broke their gaze and shifted to stare at the tabletop with apparent fascination.

"Er…hello," he said, in a cracking voice.

"Hello," said Hermione quietly, still playing with her quill.

"I brought you your book back," he said, at the same time she blurted,

"We're partnering each other."

They laughed nervously, Draco a bit overloud, earning him a glare from Madam Pince, who sat behind her desk twenty feet away.

"Oh," said Hermione, touching that book that Draco held in her lap. "You brought back my book." Then, realizing where she'd put her hand, she flinched back.

With one rapid movement, Draco placed the book on the table. Hermione reached over and pulled it so it rested next to her own pile of books. There was a moment of tense silence.

"Did you hear what I said, before?" asked Hermione.

"Er…no?"

"We're partnering each other. For Post-NEWTs. I hope you don't mind, I sort of just assumed that it would be all right with you, I mean, Professor McGonagall did offer the opportunity to switch," said Hermione, babbling.

Draco took a breath to speak, but just as he was about to, Crabbe and Goyle came tumbling through the library doors, making an almighty ruckus in the still room. Madam Pince shushed them angrily from her desk, and they quieted down a bit. Lumbering right past Draco and Hermione's table with nary a glance, they moved into the rows of bookshelves, muttering between themselves—something about _wanting to read it summore, dunno why he took it away_.

When Draco looked back to the table, he saw that Hermione was gripping the edge of it with some anxiety, her knuckles white. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but couldn't bring his jaw to open to release the words.

After another moment of uncomfortable quiet, Crabbe and Goyle came lumbering back towards Madam Pince's desk. After she had stamped their book, they walked past Draco and Hermione's table once more, and Draco saw that Crabbe was covetously clutching the library's copy of _Potions Ingredients of the Western World._ Then they rumbled out the library door.

It wasn't until the door clicked shut behind them that Draco made to remark on this curious event, only to be cut short when Hermione said,

"You've changed your hair." At this, Draco glanced at her, found she was looking at him, and quickly turned away.

"Er…yes." Damn him, he was usually so smooth in conversation. What had happened to all those hard-learned skills? Perhaps it was time to beat a hasty retreat, to regain his wits. "Er…I'll owl you later," he said, and, cursing silently, ducked out the library door.

* * *

"Damn, damn, and _double-damn!!_" said Hermione, shoving open the door to the sixth-year girls' dormitory. Stalking in, she slammed her haul of library books—as well as _Potions Ingredients of the Western World_—down onto her desk, and proceeded to throw herself down on her bed. This action awoke Crookshanks, who had been peacefully shedding ginger fur all over Hermione's bed. He meowed at her disdainfully, jumping to her desk to inspect the new books with his nose. 

"Sorry, Crookshanks," Hermione said, not paying attention. Standing again, she paced to the window, resting her forehead against it. "What the hell is wrong with me, Crooks?" she said to her cat. "I stand accused of being the chatterbox know-it-all of Hogwarts, and suddenly I can't talk."

"Rowwrr," responded Crookshanks. Intellectually, Hermione knew that the only reason cats meowed at all was because they were imitating people talking. But something about the way Crookshanks had vocalized the sound made the think he was suggesting something like, _Boy got your tongue?_

"Urg," said Hermione, and thumped her hand against a wall. _Maybe if I write him a note I won't be so damned tongue-tied,_ she thought. Draco had seemed pretty tongue-tied himself—at least there was the consolation that she wasn't alone in her plight.

Shoving herself away from the window, Hermione began digging through her desk for a piece of fresh parchment and a quill. Tearing off a small piece of parchment, she began to scrawl:

_Dear Draco—_

Too formal. "No," she said with a growl, and tore off the piece of parchment on which she'd written, crumpling it.

_Draco—_

"Too formal," she said, tearing this piece off as well. This time she hurled the crumpled paper across the room with frustration. Crookshanks, in fear of her ire, leapt back to Hermione bed and settled himself on her pillow, where he began shedding in earnest.

This time, Hermione dove straight into writing.

_I've been doing some interesting research on our—_

How would he ever know she still wanted to be his friend if she addressed him like that? "Gah!" said Hermione, crumpling the entire remaining piece of parchment and tossing it to the floor. After a moment's thought of how she _could_ possibly begin a letter to him, she started stomping on the fallen parchment in frustration.

Across the room, Crookshanks' head popped up in alarm.

"It's no use," Hermione said finally, leaning against her bed. _Wait a second…didn't he say he was going to send _me_ an owl?  
_

* * *

_Shit,_ thought Draco with emphasis. _I said I was going to send her an owl._ Instead of doing so, he'd been drawn into a conversation in the Slytherin common room about what mischief everyone had been up to that day. Draco made sure to leave out of his report that he'd been trapped under a trick stair with a Gryffindor for several hours. 

Now he was coming back from dinner and he still hadn't written that owl, and it seemed likely that Blaise Zabini and Teddy Nott wanted him to spend some time with them in the common room. Those two likely wanted to talk about the glorious stuff each of their respective dads and mums had been up to, and wouldn't it be grand when they were out of school and they could do the same? Draco usually put up with the chatter of Blaise and Teddy, even though he was really more interested in other things. Secretly, he suspected that Blaise and Teddy felt the same way, but who could know for sure?

_I'll send her an owl in the morning,_ he promised himself, with the troubling accompanying thought that he had absolutely no idea what to say to her.

* * *

Author's Note: Hey, guys! Been awhile. But now it's summer, and there's plenty of time for me to write ficcage. I've found myself a bit inspired to work on this story, so let's all cross our fingers that I stay that way!

In regards to the story itself--don't worry, I'm not just making Ron & Harry jerks. There is an actual reason behind Harry acting the way he is. Don't worry, all will be revealed in time.

In other news, I'm BACK, BABY.


	5. Chapter 4: Beginnings

Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table at breakfast, feeling unaccountably annoyed. Scratch that, she was _accountably _annoyed. Harry and Ron were, once again, sitting as far from her as they could possibly sit, and she _still_ hadn't received an owl from Malfo—from Draco. She had spent the entire afternoon yesterday distracted from her classes, thinking excitedly about Post-NEWTs. Then when she had returned to her dorm in Gryffindor tower to do homework, she spent the entire evening glancing nervously up from her studies to the window of the tower, expecting Malf—Draco's large eagle owl to appear.

Now, the owl post having already arrived with no sign of a note from Draco, Hermione poked with increasing fury at the kippers on her plate—honestly, she didn't even _like_ kippers, but she'd served herself without paying attention. Finally, Hermione succumbed to temptation, and whirled in her seat to direct her gaze at the Slytherin table. _There_ he was. Pointedly ignoring her. Hermione glared at the back of his head, willing him to turn around and explain himself. If he really wanted to be her friend, he wasn't making a very good showing of it.

*******

"Oi, Draco!" called Teddy Nott down the table. "Granger's staring at you! Think she has a crush?"

Draco looked up from his kippers—he didn't even _like_ kippers—to see Teddy Nott's laughing face. Leaning back to see past Goyle's bulk on the bench next to him, he saw a reddened feminine face glaring out at him from a mane of brown hair. _Bollocks._ He had meant to send that owl this morning, he really had, but then he had sat down with the blank piece of parchment and been utterly at a loss for what to write. Then, of course, Blaise and Crabbe had asked him what he was writing, and he'd had to fib and say he was writing his Dad a letter.

Draco turned back to Nott. "Please, not while I'm eating my breakfast," he shot down the table at his housemate.

This earned him a laugh from those in his year, the loudest being Pansy Parkinson. Inwardly, Draco flinched. His stomach felt a bit queasy, so he pushed his kippers toward the center of the table.

"Hey, Millie, be a darling, will you?" called Teddy. "Pass the eggs?" Millicent Bulstrode grasped the bowl of eggs in one beefy hand and sent the bowl down towards Nott, and the chatter at the table resumed.

Sneaking another peek at Hermione at the Gryffindor table, Draco felt his insides twist with guilt. He'd buggered it all up now, like he always did with everything. Ever since he could remember, Draco had been terrible with people. He could gain their attention quickly enough, but he always wound up hurting someone or saying yes to something he didn't want to say yes to, or…well. At least they were partners for Post-NEWTs, that was something—he'd have a chance to make things up to her at least. McGonagall would be giving them notice soon of their first class meeting—he could talk to her then.

Everything would be fine.

*******

By the time the bell rang for first period, Hermione's fury had reached the boiling point. _How dare he._ He was acting as though she didn't exist. Some friend he was turning out to be.

Struggling to control herself, Hermione tried not to pay attention to the angry twitching of muscles beneath her skin. As she packed her books back in her bag, she darted a quick glance around the table to see if anyone had noticed her behavior. Nothing. No one was casting so much as a second glance at her.

Briefly, she wondered if she would be quite as angry if she'd still had Harry and Ron's friendship on which to rely. Never mind that, though. She might as well call out her newfound 'friend' on his behavior before class, so she could figure out just why his concept of friendship included pretending she didn't exist.

Joining the crush of students exiting the Great Hall, Hermione pinpointed one figure with peroxide-blond hair and made a beeline for him.

*******

Abruptly, Draco felt himself being pulled off course in the Entrance Hall, and found his back pressed against a wall in an alcove. Before him was a vision of terrifying anger, one that was armed with a very heavy bookbag, and a massive copy of _Trinkets and Baubles: The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts in the 16__th__ century._

"Erm—" began Draco.

"Why are you ignoring me?" said Hermione.

"Can we discuss this somewhere else?" Draco indicated the crowd of students behind Hermione, some of whom were stopping to stare.

"No, _here,_" she snapped, and brandished _Trinkets and Baubles._

"Oh, Merlin," said Draco, and quickly pulled his wand from his pocket, muttering a privacy spell. The echoing voices of students hushed.

"You said you would send an owl." Hermione's voice crackled with suspicion.

"_Later,_ I said, _later,_" Draco said, still feeling nervous. "Could you lower the book, please?"

"Later _last night,_ that meant."

"The _book, _Granger, civil conversation!" said Draco a bit desperately. How had this gotten so bad so quickly? He reached out and pushed _Trinkets and Baubles _to a less threatening height.

This gave Hermione pause. "Oh. Right."

"If you'd listen for a moment," said Draco, relieved, "I'd tell you that I couldn't get away last night to send you an owl, and then this morning everyone wanted to know what I was doing, so I told them I was writing a letter to my father." There. Perfectly reasonable explanation.

Hermione looked stricken. "I thought you said you wanted to be my friend."

Confused, Draco began, "What--?"

"I should have known it was all a trick!"

"_What?_ It's not a trick, I just couldn't get away to—"

"You wouldn't be so concerned with keeping it a secret if you _really_ wanted to be friends! I can't _believe_ I fell for it!" Turning, Hermione stalked to the edge of the privacy bubble, shaking her head. "I should have known the _instant_ you started talking about Muggles that you weren't really interested." She turned back to him, and Draco was horrified at the resolution on her face. "It was all just fodder for you to make fun of me, wasn't it?!"

"_No, _I—"

"And now I've gone and volunteered to partner you for Post-NEWTs, URGH, and me supposedly the brightest witch in the school!"

"You've got it all backwards, Granger—!"

"I should have known that all you do is _lie,_ Malfoy," she said coldly, and strode from the bubble back into the Entrance Hall traffic.

Draco took a long moment to consider what had just happened. "_Shit._" Well, there, he'd gone and buggered something up again. No chance of sending her that owl, now. It wasn't as though he could defend himself, either, even if she had let him get a word in edgewise. After all, he'd been treating her poorly for more than five years, it wasn't as though it would make sense from her side for him to suddenly start behaving like—

Oh, _shit,_ he was late for class. McGonagall would take points!

Draco bounded from the privacy bubble, popping it as he ran.

******

Neither Hermione Granger nor Draco Malfoy got much out of their first period classes that day.

Draco spent Transfiguration mulling through the situation, rather than learning how to turn bundles of quills into bouquets of flowers. He mispronounced the incantation due to his inattention, and produced a cascade of jellybeans that rolled off his desk and all over the floor. Then Goyle ate one of the jellybeans, prompting McGonagall to turn white with anger, and Goyle to turn quite an attractive cerulean blue. Once McGonagall had turned Goyle the proper color again (and lectured him on the notion that food created from non-edible items, was not, in fact, _edible_), she informed Draco that he was to stay after class.

Draco managed to turn the situation to his advantage, however, as the distraction had provided him the time he needed to come to a conclusion about the Hermione Granger Issue. Once he had a plan, he felt a good deal better about the whole situation. Slytherins are like that.

What he didn't expect was what McGonagall had to say to him.

"Mr. Malfoy," began a stern Professor McGonagall, seating herself behind her desk. "I am growing concerned about your academic performance. It is a shame to see such a good student fall into misbehavior."

Draco hung his head. It was true, he'd fallen behind in his studies lately. School had stopped mattering as much to him since the events of the previous year, and he'd gotten more and more—he didn't want to travel down that line of thought. "I'm sorry, Professor."

"Well, don't be sorry, Mr. Malfoy!" said McGonagall tightly. Draco looked up at her, startled. She paused, and straightened her back, seeming to regain control over herself. "I honestly don't know what to think. You've always gotten very decent grades, but now you've lost your prefecture, and Professor Snape informs me you've been deliberately skipping classes. That, coupled with your absence from the Post-NEWTs meeting—" Draco made to interrupt, but McGonagall caught herself, "—never mind, Miss Granger explained that, but your behavior this morning…I don't know what to think," she repeated, and Draco was stunned to see real worry in his teacher's eyes.

"Professor, I…" Might as well bite the bullet, then, since he couldn't think of a response. "Would you…?" _Spit it out! _"Professor, I know it's rather too late in my school career at Hogwarts to be asking this, but—what I mean to say is—would you—that is, can you recommend any good books to me about Muggle Studies?"

McGonagall could not have looked more shocked than if Draco had announced he would like to transfer to Gryffindor.

Not that what he'd asked was that far from it…oh, _Merlin,_ what was he doing…

"I just," he tried to cover, "I recently had a conversation with—that is, my nursemaid when I was younger was Mugglebo—look, I've just developed an interest in—oh, please stop me, Professor," he burst out, and then felt rather ashamed of himself. _Wizards of your bloodline do not babble,_ he could almost hear his mother reprimanding him in his head.

"Professor Burbage would likely be more helpful in answering such inquiries," said Professor McGonagall after a moment, sounding vacant. "Her office is located on the third floor, in the first corridor following the painting of The Sunbathers at Clifton Beach. I believe she has a free period during the last class period of the day today."

Draco considered his schedule—yes, Professor Trelawney had taken ill the previous Tuesday, so he didn't have Divinations that period. "Thank you, Professor," he said.

"Not at all," said Professor McGonagall in the same hollow tone.

"Oh, er, when will our first Post-NEWTs class be, if you don't mind me asking, Professor?"

"You'll receive notice when it has been arranged. The Professor has not yet arrived on the grounds."

"Am I…am I to have detention for what happened in class today?" asked Draco, apprehensive.

That seemed to shake the teacher from her stupor. "Oh." She blinked. "No, Mr. Malfoy, I hardly think a mistake in spell pronunciation merits a detention, although I rather think this incident should come as a sharp shock to you." McGonagall peered over her square glasses at him. "Professor Snape informed me that you were somewhat…lackadaisical when he spoke with you about your studies, but if I find your attention drifting in class again, I will pull you from Post-NEWTs, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Professor," Draco mumbled.

"I know it must be difficult to take this from an instructor who is not your head of house, but as a teacher at this institution, I have a vested interest in your success." Was it just a trick of the light, or were her eyes softening? Hard to tell beyond all the tartan, really. "I daresay, though, I have rarely seen a better application of Switching spells than demonstrated during your OWL examinations. I'm quite pleased you're partners with Miss Granger for your Post-NEWT Preparations Course—you're the only one enrolled that I feel could give her a run for her money."

Draco was shocked. Who knew McGonagall could have such a preference for a student who wasn't one of her precious Gryffindors?

"That is, if you choose to straighten out your behavior and stop behaving such a hooligan," finished the teacher sternly.

Then again, maybe she hadn't such a preference for him…

"Here is a pass to explain your tardiness to your next professor," said McGonagall with finality, jotting something down on a piece of parchment. "Let's not have another incident like today."

Draco reached across the desk to take the note. "Of course not, Professor. And let's face it, it could have been worse."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Instead of jellybeans, I could have covered the floor in beetles." Grinning cheekily, Draco bolted from the room before McGonagall could respond.

******

The more Hermione thought about it, the more she realized how ridiculous she was being about it. While at the same time, the more Hermione thought about how she'd treated Draco, the less she paid attention to what Professor Binns was saying.

Not that students paying attention was a commonality in History of Magic_,_ thought Hermione with a grim smile, casting her gaze over the classroom. Gryffindor had this class double with the sixth-year Ravenclaws, so Dean Thomas had the opportunity to fall asleep on not just Parvati Patil, but also on Anthony Goldstein. Anthony looked a bit discomfited with Dean's arm draped on his shoulder, but Parvati didn't seem to mind Dean's head against her arm too much.

Hermione grumbled quietly to herself and forced her attention back to her notes. She was probably the only student in her year who was actually interested in History of Magic—though she had to admit, Professor Binns did not have the most enthralling presence in a classroom. Hermione drifted back into her thoughts in the middle of writing a sentence about the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.

Maybe she'd been a bit hasty about the whole thing. After all, Mal—Draco _had_ offered a rational explanation for why he hadn't owled her. Oh, _drat,_ she'd gone and alienated another friend. At least this time she'd know _why_ he was avoiding her, not like with Harry and Ron…

No, she'd expected too much, really, which was ridiculous. She was used to being friends with boys, and boys her age were really very insensitive and unthinking about their friends. It was the way males were brought up, at least in Muggle society. From what she'd seen of boys brought up in Wizarding society, that was one social convention that transcended the boundaries of magic.

Curses. At this point she had two options: go back to her lonely, friendless existence, or stow away her embarrassment at jumping to conclusions _yet_ again and apologize to—

Oh, God, she couldn't even think it.

Apologize to Malfoy. Urg.

While Professor Binns droned on about events in 1692, Hermione's thoughts focused on events yet to come in the remainder of 1996.

***

It was the end of a very long day. Draco had just spent the better part of an hour in the Muggle Studies classroom, on the receiving end of a long stream of bubbly chatter from Professor Burbage, an older witch who gave off an aura of loving every creature on the earth, including mosquitoes. She'd shown him 'round the Muggle Studies classroom, and expressed disappointment that it was rather too late to enroll him in her class, but, oh!, you wanted a book list, how silly of me, yes, I'll just jot down a few titles, wonderful for a young man to seek extracurricular studies!

That was what he was doing, wasn't it? No use turning back now, Draco thought, though it meant he'd succumbed to the academia his father had tried to discourage by making him go out for Quidditch, among other things. His father would be proud, he was sure, though, to find his son getting top marks in an extra-credit course like Post-NEWTs. Best not to mention the Muggle Studies reading on the side…

Arriving at the library, Draco made to go to the card catalogue, when he spotted a familiar face at a secluded table. Oh, Merlin, she just had to look up right then, didn't she? Hermione Granger beckoned to him to sit next to her, and with a heavy sense of déjà vu, Draco glanced about for watching classmates and moved to sit beside her.

***

Oh, good, he was coming to sit down. Hermione felt her spirits lift, and then sink again quickly. Oh, no, he was coming to sit down. She'd gotten so caught up in Ancient Runes after History of Magic, and then in Arithmancy after that, that she'd complete forgotten to think about what to say to him. And now he was sitting next to her, all pointed face and blond hair and _Malfoy,_ and here she was trying to make up for her inattention in History of Magic, and oh _God._

"Erm…" _Oh, brilliant, Hermione, brilliant! Think of something to say, you shouted at the poor boy this morning!_ "I…"

Nonono, this was _Malfoy, _he was due to start sneering and calling her 'Mudblood' any minute, what had she been _thinking?!_

Cursing inwardly, Hermione turned tensely back to her History of Magic textbook, letting her hair fall over her face.

***

_Bugger,_ thought Draco, sitting down beside the Gryffindor. There she was, sitting all prim with a stack of books next to her on the table, looking mousy and Gryffindor and _Oh Merlin_ what was he doing sitting next to Hermione Granger in a library?! This was preposterous! And here she was babbling, obviously at a loss for words, and shouldn't he try to defend himself? She was offering an opening, obviously, but—

Reality slammed into Draco like an _impedimenta! _

This was _Hermione bloody Granger_ he was sitting next to, the sort of person Lucius Malfoy would spit on in the street if that sort of thing weren't frowned upon by the school's Board of Directors. The implications of the situation were obviously hitting her, too, he thought, since she was turning back to her work and pretending he wasn't there. Draco fiddled with the rolled-up parchment in his hand that was Professor Burbage's booklist, casting about for something to say.

"We should be having our first Post-NEWTs meeting soon. McGonagall told me she'd let us know when we'd be having it."

Brilliant, Malfoy, simply brilliant. Dazzle her with your Weasley-like powers of conversation.

"Oh. Good." She was still hidden by her hair. All that bushy, Granger hair that he'd poked fun at thousands upon thousands of times.

"Erm."

Silence descended. Draco felt his stomach churning with the utter _wrongness_ of the situation, until finally, after several minutes of tense quiet, he stood abruptly. Granger jumped, looked up at him, then quickly looked back down at her parchment.

"Books—I have to—I came to get books, excuse me," Draco managed and raced to the card catalogue.

This looked to be the beginning of a very awkward friendship.

If one could call it a friendship, that is.

***

A/N: Whee! New chapter!


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